


Dare to Dream

by dreamsofdramione



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A small sprinkling of plot, Age Difference, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, James Potter is a Charming Motherfucker, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rare Pair, Rare Pairings, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2021-02-17 23:22:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21501487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsofdramione/pseuds/dreamsofdramione
Summary: The song wound down, and James’ hand let up, that soothing warmth trailing from her skin with it. “Would you care for another drink?” He was looking at her in the strangest way, eyes half-lidded, a brilliant smile painted on his lips. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think he looked almost smitten, but that couldn’t be true. Knowing her own face and its penchant for doing what it wanted without the permission of her overactive brain, he was probably mirroring the stupidly happy smile she couldn’t bite back. That had to be it. It just had to because in no world, wizarding, muggle, or otherwise, would James Potter look at her like that.“That sounds lovely.” It came out breathier than intended. He smiled in response, and she prayed to all the gods he hadn’t noticed the silly schoolgirl inside of her preening under his attentions.-----At Harry's wedding, Hermione allows herself to indulge in the fantasy of a long held dream.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/James Potter, Theodore Nott/Harry Potter (background)
Comments: 33
Kudos: 359
Collections: Good Girl Hermione





	Dare to Dream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyKenz347](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKenz347/gifts).



> So I have wanted to write a Jamione fic for a little while now and [@LadyKenz347](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKenz347/pseuds/LadyKenz347) gave the perfect excuse. When pestering her for the next chapter of her upcoming Zaddy fic (which is fucking AMAZING btw and I cannot wait for her to publish it), I offered to bribe her and she named her price as Jamione smut. So - here we all are. lol
> 
> **Prompt: Drunken confessions at Harry's wedding!**

*

The perfectly manicured grounds of the Nott estate stretched as far as Hermione could see, bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun, the pink and purple splashes of colour that streaked across the darkening sky provided a picture-perfect backdrop for the happy couple’s first dance.

Hermione swirled the champagne in her flute, watching little bubbles cling to the glass as she heaved out a heavy sigh. She was happy for her friend _—really,_ she was—happier than she could even put into words. Happiness, however, didn’t stop the dull ache in her chest from thudding to life as she watched Theo spin him around in a soft twirl before pressing Harry to his chest. It wasn’t that she was jealous of Theo, or even Harry in the moment, it was more a sense of envy for the both of them—for what they found in each other, and in such a short time no less. They’d barely been dating six months, officially anyway, when Theo had dropped to one knee and spoke of a life in the not so distant future that they both might share. 

Harry wasn’t even the first of her friends to get married. Luna and Neville had wed shortly after the Final Battle five years earlier. Ron and Susan Bones had married just the year before. Even Lavender Brown with her need to cling had found a solid partner in Cormac, and as much as Hermione shuddered to think of the coupling, she couldn’t deny they looked awfully in love, sitting a few tables over with their heads bowed and small smiles curved on their lips. 

“Mind if I have this dance?” The bubbly liquid nearly sloshed from her flute at the unexpected breath caressing her ear. Somehow, lost in her own thoughts, she’d failed to notice James as he approached from behind. 

Gulping, she lifted her eyes to find him mere centimetres away, hair ruffled, glasses slightly askew, and a lopsided smirk twisted on his lips. “Y-yeah. Sure, I mean. That’d be fine.”

A soft chuckle spilled from his lips and she downed the rest of her glass before taking his proffered hand. It didn’t mean anything at all that he asked her to dance. Everyone else was coupled up, making their way to the floor as the second song of the night flooded the speakers. Of course he asked _her_ , she was single, and one of the few people in attendance that he knew. 

But even being aware of his lack of intention, it didn’t stop the flurry of butterflies that tickled her belly when he spun her into his firm embrace. Her hands landed flat against his chest and she held her breath as he guided her body towards him with a firm hand on her waist, pulling her into him until they were pressed flush together, his palm splayed wide against the open back of her dress. 

The dress _was_ rather ridiculous but she hadn’t had a choice in attire as Harry’s best man—she’d insisted altering it for gender was more sexist than the other way around and the grooms were loathed to argue with a defiant Hermione. Theo had chosen the get up, the strappy black dress that barely dusted her knees was fully exposed in the back, not even allowing her to wear a bra. Thank Godric for magic and beauty charms, or the nippy air that night would have likely given everyone quite the show.

Warmth seeped into her skin from the slow circles James’ fingers drew on the curve of her spine. For being a rather temperate night, she was feeling the heat—from his hold, from his voice, from his very presence. The low rumble of him humming along to the song wasn’t helping much either.

“I love this song,” he mumbled into her curls, edging her a tad closer with the press of a firm palm. She hummed in agreement, resting her cheek against the perfectly pressed lapel of his robes. James Potter could wear a paper bag and still look like he’d just stepped out of a magazine, but even Hermione could admit, albeit only to herself, that the tailored robes did wonders to highlight the lean lines of his form. 

They danced in slow circles, spinning around the floor with practised ease. He was really quite good at it, a strong lead that she had no trouble following. For being Harry’s father, they were really quite different. Where Harry clumsily clung to Theo on the dance floor, James twirled her around with grace. The boisterous chuckle Harry bellowed when he missed a step was a stark contrast to the husky laugh that slipped past James’ lips, tickling the curls that had escaped her intricate plait earlier in the night. 

The song wound down, and James’ hand let up, that soothing warmth trailing from her skin with it. “Would you care for another drink?” He was looking at her in the strangest way, eyes half-lidded, a brilliant smile painted on his lips. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think he looked almost smitten, but that couldn’t be true. Knowing her own face and its penchant for doing what it wanted without the permission of her overactive brain, he was probably mirroring the stupidly happy smile she couldn’t bite back. That had to be it. It just had to because in no world, wizarding, muggle, or otherwise, would James Potter look at her like _that._

“That sounds lovely.” It came out breathier than intended. He smiled in response, and she prayed to all the gods he hadn’t noticed the silly schoolgirl inside of her preening under his attentions.

Rather than leaving her on the dance floor though, lean fingers twined with hers as he turned and tugged them both over to the open bar. The Nott family fortune was probably slightly dinged by the hefty price tag for the extravagant affair, but Hermione certainly couldn’t complain about the high quality of the spirits they’d been serving all night. Empty bottles of expensive liquor filled the rubbish bins, nearly overflowing from what had already been consumed, but three times as much still sat behind the bar, floating on full display for everyone to see. They must’ve bought out nearly every liquor store within a five kilometer radius in the Muggle and Magical world alike to procure such vast quantities. 

“See something you like?” It was truly unfair how dashing James looked with that one brow arched, the start of a smile curved on the edge of his lip. 

“Chardonnay, please.” The champagne bubbles were doing funny things to her insides—it was most _definitely_ that, she told herself, because the familiar flutter of butterflies she seemed to get in his presence just _had_ to be explained away. 

With two bottles and a set of glasses in hand, James turned around with a broad smile curled on his lips. “Come with me.”

* * *

Fairy lights twinkled above, woven between swaying branches just at the edge of the lush lawn. Casting a quick warming charm, Hermione settled against the transfigured blanket over the grass and watched as wedding attendees jovially enjoyed the reception in the distance. Laughing and hugging, nearly everyone Harry had ever met turned up for the lavish affair, dressed to the nines in their finest robes. Vows had been swapped, the cake had been cut, and what remained of the extravagant dinner was being cleared off by an army of all too happy house elves—paid, of course, she’d made sure to triple check that fact. 

“It was a beautiful ceremony,” she offered, attempting to break the silence.

“That it was.” She couldn’t see him, intentionally choosing to stare off at the masses of people on the far side of the lawn, but she could hear the smile in his voice and she just _knew_ it was the same charming one that did things to her she wasn’t quite ready to admit. While the silence should have felt uncomfortable, and would have been nearly suffocating with anyone else, Hermione felt nothing but relaxed. The clink of glasses drew her attention, followed swiftly by a popping cork, and when he cleared his throat, she took the half full glass and brought it to her lips. “Hey… what’s going on in that brilliant brain of yours? You’ve been awfully quiet tonight.”

_I’m thinking about how sad it is that I’m alone. I’m thinking about wanting things I cannot have._ “Nothing. Just enjoying the night.” Forcing a smile on her lips, she scooted back until she was side by side with the Potter patriarch. 

“Mmmm… you see, I’m rather inclined to think you’re not telling me the whole truth, love.” Hermione gulped, eyes glued to the knowing tilt of his lips. “You can talk to me, you know. I mean I know I’m Harry’s dad but,” taking a deep breath, James inched closer, “I’d like to think I’m your friend, as well.”

“You are. I’m just… I don’t know how to describe it, if I’m being honest.” How could she tell the man who’d lost his wife nearly two decades ago that she was lonely, that she felt as though her life was slipping away from her buried under stacks of parchment, days passing with nothing more than work to occupy her time. “I guess I just feel like my life continued on without my permission—if that makes any sense. I’ve been out of school for years, working my way up, and what do I have to show for it other than an office and a small flat that feels awfully large on certain days? Sometimes I wonder if...” chancing a quick glance, she found James studying her features, “—if maybe I’m missing something or if I’d rather have something… else to fill my time.” 

It wasn’t exactly a confession. It definitely wasn’t explicit by any means, laying out that she wanted _him_ , no matter how ridiculous it sounded, even in her own head, but it was true, at least partially, she did often wonder what it might be like to have a partner by her side during the rougher days. “I just wonder if I’ll always be this lonely, married to my work and carrying all these expectations.”

A warm palm slid over her hand, squeezing lightly. “I know what you mean, but trust me, you’re still plenty young, Hermione.”

And there it was, the reminder she definitely didn’t need. He was twenty years her senior, just barely having entered his forties, and of course his first thought to her rambling was to highlight her age—how _young_ she was. “Right. Yeah. Sorry, I—” Hermione shook her head, the wine had certainly done a number on her. This was not a safe conversation for her to have in such an emotional state, and certainly not a safe one to have with _him,_ of all people.

Lean fingers slipped between hers as James laced their hands together. “I didn’t mean to invalidate how you’re feeling, love. I just meant that you have years and years to…” he gulped, “to find someone.”

“Anyway,” she pulled her hand back, smoothing a sweaty palm over the bunched skirt of her dress, “tell me about work. How has it been going since your promotion, _Head Auror_ Potter.”

* * *

One bottle of wine sat on its side, empty save for a few drops rolling around in the bottom. The other was nearly in the same state as James poured them each another glass. It was a little sloppier, a little bit less coordinated, as a swish of wine edged over the rim and splashed across her dress. 

“Shite,” he mumbled, reaching forward to take her glass before setting it aside. Fumbling in his pocket, muttering expletives all the while, James pulled out his wand with a soft _aha_ and promptly pointed it at the spot of wine on her chest. They were laying on their sides facing each other atop the soft blanket, and when the tip of his wand tapped against the swell of her breast, Hermione held her breath. He was close, too close, less than a foot between them as she felt the moisture wick away from the fabric, but even after it was sufficiently dry, the tip of his wand stayed pressed against her chest. 

He was definitely staring, eyes fixed on the spot where the wine had been just moments before, and she felt the faintest push of wood against soft flesh. “I think it’s dry,” she murmured, slightly slurred from the sheer volume of wine they’d consumed in such a short amount of time. The tingle of his magic buzzing against her breast was doing things to her—indecent things that made her want to grip his hand and Apparate them both back to her flat before she let herself reconsider. 

“That it is.” Clearing his throat, James withdrew his wand, pocketing it again before leaning back on the blanket a tad closer this time. “Can I just say something?” The way he looked at her was truly unfair, the open honesty in that crooked smile and the deep green of his eyes swirling with something she couldn’t quite place. It made her think of _things_ —of impossibilities she’d tried and failed to tamp down all night. Not trusting her own voice, Hermione nodded, watching the way his eyes dipped to her lips as he spoke. “Any wizard would be lucky to have you, Hermione. Hell, I’m surprised Ron didn’t count his lucky stars and drop to one knee back in school. There for a long time, I really thought you and Harry might...” pulling his eyes from her lips, he looked back up at her, and the glaze of their earlier spirits was written plain as day. “I thought you two might get together one day.”

It was just another blow to her already fragile emotional state. Weddings were truly the worst, she decided. Bristling, Hermione sat up, clenching her jaw and downing the rest of the wine. “It’s late. I should really be going, James, I—”

Wrapping a hand around her wrist, James furrowed his brow. “Did I say something wrong? I’m sorry I… I just have a tendency to stick my foot in my mouth sometimes and I didn’t mean—”

She tried to tug her wrist away, but his grip only tightened. “No, I just need to go. Thank you for the company tonight. I had a lovely time and I—”

“Hermione…” His voice was low, husky, thick from the wine as he practically purred her name. Maybe she was imagining it, maybe it was more formed around a sense of hope she never should have had, but the way he said her name smoothed out all the choppy syllables anyone else would have nearly choked on. “It wasn’t my intention to upset you, love. If I’m being terribly honest, and I say terribly because if I’d had even a drop less of this wine tonight I may not have the courage to say it at all, but…” he paused, eyes skating over every inch of her features before landing solidly on her lips as he gulped. “I’m glad you and Ron didn’t work out. I’m elated you and Harry never even gave it a go. Selfishly, I don’t know that any wizard could be worthy of the woman you’ve become, much less my son and his git of a friend.” 

Tucking a loose curl behind her ear, James leaned over, lightly brushing his lips against the high of her cheek. Drunk, nearly drowning in the scent of his heady cologne, and a little too boldly, she turned just a hair, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Thank you.”

A swift squeezing sensation washed over her, stealing the breath from her lungs before she opened her eyes. She'd always hated Apparition. An arm was wrapped around her waist, firm lips pressed to her parted mouth, and she didn’t even take a second to care about where they’d landed before fisting the front of his robes and sinking into the will of his lips.

Even as her back hit a wall, his lips stayed sealed to her own, lavishing her with sinful licks and nips between panted breaths. Not a single second was squandered questioning the pressure of his hips, the fire in his kiss, no time wasted wondering what it might mean in the hours and days and years to come. No, they were both lost to the stolen moments—alone, unhinged, consumed with a need so great it eclipsed any semblance of rationality. 

Fingertips bit into the swell of her hip hard enough to bruise, and she moaned into his mouth as his other hand slid down her thigh, rucking up her dress just to glide back up supple flesh. Hooking a hand under the curve of her arse, he lifted her until the strained fabric covering his length pressed into her sex. The thin scrap of lace had to be dripping, soaked clean through as the result of his attentions, but any concern over ruining his perfectly pressed trousers went right out the window as he pulled back just to grind into her again. Wrapping one leg around his hips, she opened herself to him, her dress now curled above her hips, leaving her nearly exposed to his ministrations.

“Gods, Hermione.” There it was again, the way he said her name, stringing together disjointed syllables until they spun from his tongue like the finest silk. His thin wire frames housed fogged up lenses and she plucked his glasses from his face, wanting nothing more than to study the shade of lust glazed over his hazel eyes. A wave of want pulsed through her core as he captured her lips in a searing kiss. Arching against the wall, she dug a heel into the curve of his arse, pressing him closer.

The delicious dance they were doing put her fantasies to shame. They were both still fully closed, yet she felt as though she might come undone any second. Years of telling herself this could never happen, this _would_ never happen, were irrelevant when he laved hot kisses down the column on her neck. Blunt teeth sunk into her shoulder and his grip on her hip tightened when she moaned from the sting of his bite, dancing along the razor thin line between pleasure and pain.

James was certainly quite skilled. Twenty years her senior, he moved with confidence against her, surety in each swipe of his tongue and dip of his hips. Delicate fingers raked through tufts of dark hair, scratching his scalp, and she relished in the way he hissed against the sensitive skin of her neck. 

“Tell me to stop,” he rasped, inching the hand off her hip, fingertips tracing the curve of the bone to the flat of her tummy. Dipping another centimetre, he paused, lifting his head to catch her eye. “You need to tell me to stop.”

She couldn’t speak, could barely breathe, much less string together any sense of a coherent thought, so she simply shook her head. Reaching down to grip his hand, she guided it lower. 

“Bloody hell.” The rough of his stubble scratched against her cheek as one lean digit slid up her slit. “You’re fucking soaked, witch.”

Gulping, Hermione nodded once again. He’d rendered her dumb, stunned silent, capable of only meager shakes or nods and she couldn’t even summon the will to care about how inept she must have appeared. 

“Do you want this?” His voice cracked, raspy, thick, a low rumble that vibrated through the scant space between them. “Do you want me to fuck you, Hermione?” When she tried to nod again, he cut her off, pressing his forehead to hers to lock his gaze on her wide eyes. “ _Say it_. Tell me you want me. Tell me you want me make you scream. Tell me you want me to shove my thick cock into your pretty little cunt and fuck you until you can’t even think straight. Is that what you want, witch?”

“Y-yes.” It was barely a whisper, a fragment of a word that slid between her swollen lips. “Please.”

“Please what?” He’d all but paused his ministrations, leaving her a panting mess pressed against the wall by nothing more than the pressure of his hips. She was sure, right then and there, that if he hadn’t been holding her up, she would have slid to the floor easily, reduced to fractured thoughts of want and need and _pleasepleaseplease._

Panting heavy puffs of air against his lips, she dared to speak the words that had only ever been a fantasy, a wish, a shameful secret for herself and her hand on the particularly lonely nights. “Fuck me, James. _Please_ fuck me.”

“Merlin, witch,” he practically growled, slanting his lips over hers as he gripped her arse and lifted her the rest of the way off the ground. Her legs wrapped around his hips instinctively, hooking her ankles together as her hands gripped his shoulders. Some vague notion that they were moving crossed her mind, but with a sweep of his tongue inside her mouth, she couldn’t bring herself to care. Their tongues tangled as he walked them somewhere, one hand leaving her arse to fumble with a door knob, and then with a few more steps, he pulled back from her lips and leaned down until her back hit a soft surface. 

Pawing at him as he stood back up, she whinged, sticking out her lower lip. But then, with a swift twist of his wrist, he brandished his wand and wordlessly cast some spell at himself, divesting every inch of that deliciously work hardened body of clothes. The next instant, she felt a whoosh of air wash over her and looked down to find that she, too, was completely bare. His wand landed gracelessly with a thunk against the hardwood floor somewhere and she barely heard it roll away before his knee dipped into the edge of the mattress, and the loud pulse of her heartbeat thumped between her ears, drowning out any other sound.

“Tell me to stop,” he repeated the same plea from before, as she backed up all the way onto the mattress, pillows bracing her spine as he crawled up her body. 

“Don’t.” One word. Four little letters. Whispered, breathed, just a second before her breath hitched, and there was no going back. 

Kissing James was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. He was practised, yet tentative, learning the way she responded with every swish and flick of his tongue, studying the way she’d whimper or moan with a suck here or a lick there. He took direction as though she was a course, leading just to watch, then following the flow of her response. There was a confidence in his lips, a certainty in his tongue, a sense of knowledge about the most basic, primal need that was nearly overwhelming her. 

But he guided her through it all, with deft hands clawing the ladder of her ribs, firm palms pressing against her breasts. When she’d gasp, he’d let her breathe, if just for a moment, before claiming her lips once again. Just as he had lead her on the dance floor just hours before, with a firm hand and sure steps, he directed her against the sheets in the sinful dance as old as time. 

He hadn’t even touched her _there_ , yet the feel of his firm body pressed flush against her soft curves felt more intimate than any of her previous trysts. Pulsing against her sodden folds, his hardened length pressed into her sex and she arched into him. “Please,” dripped from her lips in an unintelligible gasp when she felt the head of his cock twitch against her clit. 

For the second time that night, he pulled back, breaking their kiss and leaving her gasping for gulps of air peppered with his scent. Before she could protest, though, his lips landed on her collarbone, trailing down her breast and the line of her sweat slicked chest. When he continued his descent, Hermione held her breath. It wasn’t that she was unfamiliar with the idea of a wizard going down on her, it was simply that it had never worked out very well for her. In her past, with men her age, it was a quick gesture, a way of doing something for her before her partner got their rocks off in a way that was rarely ever mutually beneficial. 

But when James’ lips closed around her throbbing clit, his tongue flicking the sensitive nub before licking a hot stripe across her sex, she thought, not for the first time, there were certain advantages to being with an experienced man. And he wasn’t just any man, he was James Potter, a frequent feature in her late night fantasies, a daydream she’d never thought she could seriously entertain. 

Laving his tongue between her folds, he slipped two fingers into her dripping sex and set a punishing pace. With her clit sealed between his lips, she knew she wouldn’t last long. She sat up on her elbows, craning to watch the thick chord of muscles across his shoulder flex under the dewy skin as he devoured her. A twist of his wrist sent her careening toward the edge of her orgasm, and with the light nip of his teeth against her overstimulated bud, she crested the wave of her own release. Her eyes rolled back in her head and her hair dusted the crease between her shoulders as a moan of his name tore from her throat and her walls fluttered around thick fingers. He worked her through it, sucking and licking up every drop of her arousal as she came back to herself, the high of her climax ebbing away. 

Reaching forward to card thin fingers into the messy tufts of dark hair, she gripped, tugging him up to cover her body again. A thin sheen of slick sweat coated her overheated body and he slid against her with ease. 

“You taste divine, love,” he murmured, slipping the fingers still glistening from her sex into his mouth and hollowing out his cheeks as he sucked her very essence from his fingertips. As soon as he popped them out of his mouth, she leaned forward, parting his lips with her tongue and tasting herself mixed with the flavor of his kiss. It wasn’t bad, more savoury than sweet, but she certainly wasn’t going to complain if he fancied it. Bloody hell, he could live between her thighs if he wanted to, and she’d never object to a single second of it. 

Smoothing a palm over the flat of his shoulder, running her fingers down the dip of his spine, she gripped his arse and pulled him into her, wrapping shaky legs around his waist. 

“Are you ready for me, love?”

“Mmm,” she hummed, relishing in the feel of his solid form pressing her thin frame into the mattress. 

“Tsk, tsk. I thought I told you earlier to use your words.” Though he narrowed his eyes, the curve at the edge of his lips belied his teasing demeanor. 

“Fuck me. Please, _please_ fuck me, James.” She sounded wanton, like a common slag, but she didn’t care. She wanted this, wanted to feel the delicious stretch of his cock against her already soaked walls, wanted to feel him fill her up until there wasn’t an inch of space left and shag her until she couldn’t breath. She wanted him, and she wanted him _now._

“As you wish.” Wetting his lips, he lined himself up and she loosened her grip on his hips to open herself in invitation. The tip of his cock nudged her entrance as he slotted himself between her hips, and with one swift motion, he thrust into her still quivering cunt. Hissing through the motion, he pulled out just to plunge back in again.

It wasn’t soft or sweet, there was no time to adjust to the stretch of his girth, but it was bliss—heady, all consuming, soul shattering bliss as he filled her over and over and over again. They found a rhythm in no time, her nails sunk into his shoulders and his hand gripping her thigh, pulling it up and up until she felt her muscles burn. Snapping his hips, he rocked into her, held up by one hand pressed to the pillow under her head. “Fuck you feel so good, Hermione. Taking my cock like it was bloody made for you, milking it with that tight little cunt of yours.” 

He hissed as she clenched around his length. 

“Do that again, love,” he panted, and she was all too happy to oblige, gripping his shoulder and biting her lip as she clamped down the walls of her pussy. “Fuck, you’re such a good girl. So ready and willing to please me, hm?” She nodded. “Is that what you want, love? To please me? To be my good girl while I shag you senseless?” She nodded again, eyes pressed shut and her teeth digging into her lower lip. 

The press of his chest against her own snapped her eyes open and he was suddenly so close, filthy words and unintelligible praise spilling from his lips as he fucked her hard and fast, spiraling into oblivion with each thrust of his hips.

Muttering filthy promises into her sweat soaked curls, he told her how _good_ she was, how _perfectly_ she took his cock, and she couldn’t help but preen under the praise, arching up and tilting her hips to edge him impossibly deeper into her cunt. 

“Are you going to come for me, love? Come all over my aching cock?”

“Y-yes.”

And with a swift press of the pad of his thumb against her already throbbing clit, she did just that. Her walls gripped tight and her breath stuttered as a broken moan clawed its way up and out of her throat. She came with a shout of his name, and he followed swiftly behind with one, two, three snaps of his hips. Panting, he collapsed on top of her, his cock still twitching as the last bits of his spend coated the walls of her cunt. 

A long few moments passed, punctuated by nothing more than heaving breaths and frenzied heartbeats. If she didn’t know any better, with her pulse still racing—positively thrumming in her ears—she would have thought she was on the verge of a heart attack. Instead, however, she was simply spent, boneless and weightless and on a cloud of ecstasy all at the same time. She had never, ever come that hard in her entire life—even at the will of her own hand, much less twice in the span of an hour. 

“Hermione, that was—”

“—I know.” 

Rolling onto his side, a firm hand gripped her hip and turned her as well so they were facing each other on top of the soft cotton sheets. Wandless and wordlessly, he summoned a blanket, and if she could have formed a single coherent thought, she would have taken a minute to appreciate his skill. Instead though, she pushed him onto his back and pillowed her cheek against his chest, letting the wave of exhaustion sweep her under into a deep sleep.

That night her dreams weren’t of hazel eyes and tentative smiles. They still starred the man laying next to her, in all of his fit glory, but they weren’t of the sexual sort. If she’d had half a mind to examine it, she might’ve realized those dreams could no longer hold a candle to the reality of having him. So, instead of her typical dreams of shagging the man, she had fantasies of another sort. Fantasies of a life well lived in simplicity—a home stuffed full of pictures, momentos, memories they’d crafted together and framed up on the walls. 

She dreamed of love and happiness and a future that, for once, starred more that simply herself. A future that felt nearly tangible when she woke to find him snoring softly beside her, mussed hair splashed against the pillow, and an adorable quirk to his lips. If she’d asked what the smile was for, she might’ve learned he was simply feigning sleep, relishing in the reality of her within his arms for the first of what they’d both separately hoped was many, _many_ mornings to come. 

*

**Author's Note:**

> Massive thanks to [@msmerlin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/msmerlin/pseuds/msmerlin) for reading this over in its roughest form and reassuring me it wasn’t a complete mess. Additional thanks to [@mcal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcal/pseuds/mcal) for also alpha reading and leaving such thoughtful comments. 
> 
> My love [@lilibug](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilibug/pseuds/lilibug) was amazing, coming in clutch (even whilst writing her own things for nano) and betaing this (not so little) piece. 
> 
> I’ve been wandering outside of my comfort zone quite a bit lately with rare pairings and I hope you all enjoyed this little one shot. James is a charming mother fucker to write and I had way too much fun doing so.
> 
> Come find me on tumblr [@dreamsofdramione](https://dreamsofdramione.tumblr.com) or Facebook [K Writes Dramione](https://www.facebook.com/kwrites.dramione)!
> 
> As always, thank you SO much for reading. Comments & kudos **always** appreciated!


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